A Telling Show
by denise1
Summary: Jacob's thoughts during Show and Tell


A Telling Show

By

Denise

One of the perks of being a parent is that you can always learn something from your kids. And I don't just mean how many drinks of water leads to changing the bed linens at 0300 or how many cookies a kid can really eat without throwing up. What I mean is when you reexperience life through your kids.

I remember watching Mark hit his first home run, flashing back to the hot July afternoon twenty odd years before when I'd done the same thing, feeling again the bat shuddering in my hands, hearing the distinctive thunk of the ball. Even the crowd sounded the same, a raucous mix of cheers and screams.

I remember Sam's promotion to Captain, the smooth feel of the bars under my fingers, the look on her face, a mixture of pride and embarrassment. I'd felt the same way over the years, proud to advance, yet guilty about leaving my friends' behind.

I missed out on a lot of my kids' childhoods, usually off on some mission to some part of the world that's changed hands and been renamed a dozen times by now. I never got to see their first steps or hear their first words.

When I came home, I had the luxury of being Daddy, easing my way with some sort of gift picked up wherever I'd been stationed. I never had to deal with the everyday trials of their lives, the bouts with the flu, the fights, having to lay down the law. I never really got to influence their lives…or so I thought.

I drove Mark away with my 'parenting skills'. With the clarity of hindsight, and the help of my alien friend, I can see that now. I'd like to think that it ultimately worked out for the best. I've watched him with his children and there's an openness in him that I know he didn't get from me. It's almost like he deliberately set out to be the opposite of me in every way he could. Thank God.

Sam on the other hand, Sam is so like me it's scary. She's got this quiet stubborn pride that reminds me of the little girl that took off her own training wheels, then refused to cry over the skinned knee she got from falling.

When she joined the Air Force, I guess I never stopped and thought about all it would entail. I never stopped to think she'd ever really be in harm's way. I should have known better.  I worried about her each and every day while she was in the Gulf and I'll freely admit I felt no small amount of relief when she transferred to the Pentagon. Sure the place is a political vipers nest, but at least it was safe.

Or so I thought.

I think if I'd have had the slightest inkling what she was up to, I'd have called in those favors earlier, seen if I could steer her to NASA before the SGC got a hold of her.

Today was the first time I've ever seen her in action, first on the planet and now in the halls of the SGC. And I really don't know if I'm proud or scared. It just seems wrong somehow to see my daughter spend her days surrounded by so much violence.

She didn't even bat an eye when we made our way to the armory, strapping on the vest and loading her weapon with scary ease. This is a part of her I've never seen before, giving orders with no hesitation, no sign of insecurity.

We make our way through the darkened halls and I allow myself the luxury to study her, depending on Selmac to keep an eye out for the Ree-tou. She moves gracefully, like a cat on the prowl. For a little bit, I almost let myself believe that her proficiency is the result of some endless drilling. I could see O'Neill doing that, making his people practice and practice until their movements become second nature.

That illusion doesn't last for long.

It only takes me a few minutes to realize that this isn't the ease of practice; it's the ease of knowing exactly what she's doing. Somehow, it doesn't make me feel better, seeing that she's experienced at this. I wonder how many times she's done it? Pitted her skill against that of an enemy? I know just how brutal hand-to-hand combat can be and it scares me.

I watch her and I realize that there's a lot about my kid that I don't know. When exactly did she start lobbing grenades like softballs? When did she develop the ability to kill aliens without batting an eye?

What happened to that quiet little girl with a braid down her back that used to bury herself so deeply in a book we'd have to remind her to come and eat? The one that cried herself to sleep the night her kitten died.

'She grew up, Jacob,' Selmac whispers, her voice sounding distracted as she devotes most of her attention to healing the wound made by the Ree-tou.

Her foe vanquished, Sam comes back, kneeling beside me. "Dad?" she asks, her voice full of concern. The warrior I'd just watched is gone; the lingering twang of ozone in the air the only immediate sign that she'd just killed someone, or more accurately, something.

I take a moment to look into her eyes, searching for some sign, some confirmation of my worst fears. I know what violence can do to a person. I've watched old friends of mine die right in front of me, their bodies still alive but their souls irreparably damaged. I've seen it in their eyes, watched them hide that cold, flat look behind a façade of normalcy. 

I've seen a hint of that in her teammates, the look in O'Neill's and especially Teal'c's eyes that tell me that both of these men have done some damned distasteful things in their past. Things that haunt them in the middle of the night, things that have left their marks on their souls.

I don't see that in Sam. All I see is regret and concern. Her hands are gentle as she helps me to my feet, taking a moment to confirm that Chu is dead. "I need to clear the rest of the corridor," she says, holding the TER firmly in her grasp. "You should be safe here."

I bend down and pick up the dead man's weapon, silently asking Selmac to concentrate more on deadening the pain than healing the injury. "You need someone to watch your back."

She gives me this grin; one that almost suggests this is like a game to her, before turning, holding the TER firmly in her grasp. Selmac and I follow, desperately hoping that we don't run into any more surprises.

'She is all right, Jacob,' Selmac says.

'What?'

'You do not need to worry. I have seen many warriors in my day. She kills because she has to, not because she wants to. She takes no joy in the act."

'You don't know that.'

'Jacob, I know. Trust me,' the centuries old alien says. 'She may have violence in her life, but it has not become her life. Now pay attention, there are more of those creatures around here.'

I realize something as I follow Sam through the shadowy halls. She grew up while I wasn't looking, going from gangly child to woman in the blink of an eye. For some strange reason, she chose to model her life after mine…but she's not following exactly in my footsteps.

Her job is important to her, but it's not her life. Her friends won't let her do that. They won't let her make the same mistakes I made. They won't let the violence consume her.

And I couldn't be happier. 'Sel, next time I want to knock O'Neill on his ass, stop me will ya?'

'Jacob?'

'Just…he's starting to grow on me, don't let me kill him,' I say, hiding my real reason. Somehow I just know that he and Teal'c won't let Sam become like them, they won't let her sacrifice her soul for her job. They're not just her co-workers, they're her friends.

And they'll do what I can't do, they'll look over her, keep her from taking the same path they did.

They'll keep that little girl with the braid from disappearing forever.

Fin


End file.
